


A Secret Chord

by jusrecht



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, newt has a second personality, past!nonconsensual sex, past!underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: Percival came home to Newt. Except it wasn't Newt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1184.html?thread=1132704#cmt1132704) in the kinkmeme: 
> 
> Newt's core personality is kind, gentle and compassionate, but it's to the point that his heart gets hurt easily.
> 
> The Scamanders are a pure-blood family, and due to pressure and his parents' expectations, Newt developed a pure-blood personality to handle social events/bullies at Hogwarts (think cold elite elegance, like Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, without the snobby attitude).
> 
> Up to you whether Newt knows about his other personality.  
> 

 

The cigarette smell was his first clue.

Even after two years, paranoia was a knife embedded in Percival’s bones. He slipped behind a tall cupboard, fingers tense around his wand as his own magic pulsed around him, drowning him in protective spells. All was still and silent in his flat. His wards were still in place, but he knew, better than anyone, that they were not invulnerable.

It was three in the morning, the hour when shadows swallowed all light. He had been dragged out of bed two hours earlier to deal with an emergency, which turned out to be less an emergency than a series of unfortunate accidents. Now Percival wondered how much of an accident it had actually been. Perhaps it had been an attempt to lure him away from his flat.

From Newt. 

The thought of his boyfriend brought decision to his feet. He took one step, then two, careful to make no sound. The smell of cigarette grew stronger with each. Henderson, who lived two floors below, had a habit of smoking late into the night on the balcony, but Percival knew for sure that he had not left any window open.

He paused next to the bedroom door, standing half-ajar. A cold draft touched his cheeks—and no, he had _not_ left any window open. And Newt had gone back to sleep when he had left, too used to Percival’s emergencies to see him leave with anything more than a murmured _be safe_.

There was a faint rustling sound, fabric on skin, and then a soft intake of breath. Percival raised his wand, ready for an attack, and rushed in.

The bed was empty; it was the first thing he noticed. The second was the window, wide open, and in front of it was Newt, sitting on the sill and looking out at the night sky and empty street.

“Newt.” Relief was a heady rush in Percival’s veins. He took another step in, but then then he noticed the cigarette, dangling between two of Newt’s indecently long fingers. The tip burned crimson in the dim light and there was a pale tendril of smoke curling around sleep-mussed hair. Percival stared. This picture struck a wrong chord in him that he stood frozen in the doorway.

“Newt?”

There was a scoff, but Newt didn’t turn around. “Some Director of Magical Security, you are,” he said instead. The words were so softly spoken and yet each was an icy lance to Percival’s heart.

His reaction was automatic. His mouth and hand had moved without any conscious order, casting a body-bind spell and flinging the cigarette five-story down before pushing the intruder flat against the window sill.

In a less dangerous situation, Percival would’ve patted himself on the back for this quick, hard-earned, self-taught reflex.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, wand pointed straight at the other man’s chest.

It was Newt’s face—Mercy Lewis, the person was wearing _Newt’s_ face—now looking back at him, lips curved into a smile that wasn’t a smile. “You don’t remember? You were fucking me only hours ago.”

“Who. The fuck. Are you.”

“Ah, you don’t believe me.”

“Where is Newt?”

“Don’t you recognize your own boyfriend?”

Percival was seconds away from a _Crucio._ His magic lashed, seizing the other man by the throat. “Where is _Newt_.”

“In here.” Another flash of that not-smile. “Asleep.”

“What does that even mean.”

The man angled his head to expose the pale length of his neck—and the mark Percival had left on Newt’s neck, only a few hours ago.  Percival stared, bile rising in his throat. A vast array of grim possibilities were crowding his mind. Polyjuice potion? Advanced Transfiguration? And who would play this kind of trick on him?

He had a very good idea who. Wand trembling slightly, he cast a silent _Revelio._ When it failed to accomplish anything, he cast another. And another.

The other man watched him in silence, distaste evident in his expression.

“Really? You think I’m that bigoted lunatic?”

“Who are you then?” Percival retorted, the words sticking in his throat.

“You’re an Auror,” the man said, staring at him with those beautiful eyes, “and a supposedly good one, at that. Surely you can draw your own conclusions. And do remove your chokehold—unless you want to leave another mark there on top of the hickey.”

Percival withdrew, recoiling. This wasn’t Newt, but it _was_ Newt’s voice. Except not really. This voice was higher, colder, a lofty drawl that made full use of his posh accent, to disarm, coax, intimidate. He had heard that voice before.

His mind turned. Polyjuice, then—but for what purpose? If this wasn’t Grindelwald toying with him, then why would anyone go to such lengths, breaking into his apartment, dismantling countless layers of protection put around the place, taking Newt’s appearance, only to sit smoking at his window?

The answer came to him in a flash, and only because he noticed Pickett, dozing peacefully in the pocket of Newt’s pajama. Pickett would _never,_ unless.

“We’ve met before,” Percival said slowly, the knowledge coalescing in his head. He had been an Auror long enough to encounter some of the odd rare cases in the course of his career, including _this_. “During the Winter Ball.”

A sharp smirk met his guess. “Oh, look. He’s not as obtuse as he seems.”

“What _are_ you?”

‘Newt’ shrugged. “Him, a part of him, a hidden shadow, the evil twin, what does it matter? Or do you think that your Newt is so full of sunshine and goodness and all that shit that he doesn’t have anything sinister in him?”

“Is that what you are? A sinister side?”

“You can call me Artemis.”

Percival snorted. “Really? That’s how you’re going to convince me? Do I look like a moron to you?”

“Doesn’t matter what you look like. Only a moron—or someone with a hidden agenda—would try and seduce him although they didn’t even like creatures. And don’t even try to deny it.”

Percival frowned. “Newton is so much more than just his creatures. He’s not an extension of them”

Artemis made an impatient sound. “They sure as hell are an extension of _him_. So what are you doing fucking him?”

“I don’t hate his creatures.”

“And I didn’t say you hated them, do learn to understand the distinction,” his companion snapped. “Really, what does he see in you? Aside from the size of your dick, I suppose.”

Percival raised his eyebrows. “So you don’t know what he’s thinking.”

The pause that followed was heavy with speculations. Then a slow smile spread on that agonizingly familiar face. “Nice try, Mr. Graves.”

Percival couldn’t help a pained smile, settling across his face like a barbed wire. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“What?”

“It’s been a while since he called me that.”

Artemis watched him, frowning slightly. “You’re taking this whole situation rather calmly.”

“I’m _inches_ from torturing the shit out of you.”

“And make him cry?” Another smirk, obviously intended to goad. “Are you sure?”

Percival made no answer. A part of him still refused to believe—because a hidden personality? _Really?_ Even Grindelwald’s poking fun at him sounded like a much saner explanation. Another part, however, wanted nothing more than to cling to the tiny hope that yes, this man was telling the truth. Artemis was exactly who he said he was.

And the proofs existed. Percival had seen them with his own eyes.

“It was you who danced with Picquery at the ball.”

Artemis smiled, leaning against the glass. His manner was open, in a way that made openness a weapon, intimidating and provocative at the same time. “Very good, Director. I begin to see that it’s not just your dick after all.”

Percival ignored the sarcasm. “You said he was asleep. So he knows nothing about this conversation?”

“Why? Planning to have your way with me?”

That almost made him laugh. “You think I’m interested in you?”

Artemis shrugged. “Everyone is interested in me,” he declared as he stood up, walking away from the window. Everything—from the way he walked to the way he carried himself, the easy grace as opposed to the awkward shuffling, shoulders thrown back, spine erect, chin tilted up, slightly to the right instead of left—was different. Percival tried counting all the ways they were different but lost his tally somewhere around a dozen.

“His name was Archibald Yaxley,” Artemis suddenly spoke again, stopping in front of him. “Pure as they come. A first class brain and a Prefect. Truly a model student. Thought Newt was the perfect punching bag until he turned fourteen and suddenly, well, these lips are clearly made for sucking cocks, aren’t they?”

Percival couldn’t respond, horror a cold, stiff clamp around his throat. He felt sick. Artemis continued.

“The thing is, there was little a fourteen-year-old boy could do in that situation, especially if he wanted to survive school. Yaxley and his merry band of four ran the place. And it didn’t stop at Hogwarts. Family parties too, you know how purebloods mingle. Get down on your knees, Newt. There’s a good boy. Work those lips, will you. Turn around, Newt, on all fours. Show us that tight, pretty hole. Can you take more than one cock? Two? With another in your mouth? You love being stuffed full of them, don’t you?”

The man was now so close Percival could smell him. He smelled like Newt, _felt_ like Newt when he pressed two fingers on Percival’s chest, trailing down slowly.

“And now there’s you.”

The thin cord that held him together snapped. Percival seized his hand, snarling. “Get the fuck out of there. Return him to me.”

“So you can tell him to spread his legs and stuff him full with your cock?” Something ugly twisted Artemis’s face. “Did my story excite you, Mr. Graves? You, who don’t even like his creatures? Do you really think he doesn’t notice?”

“Get out.”

“Or what?” Artemis spat. “You think you can hurt me? I still remember the feel of Yaxley’s cock. Your precious Newt gave me the reins when he couldn’t handle it anymore. What an asshole. Sure, maybe I’m more of a slut than he is, but that’s a pretty rotten thing to do, don’t you think?”

“You said you had no choice.” Percival pushed the words out through his dry mouth.

“Trying to console me, Director?” The other man’s lips twitched into a bland smile. “I’m not your lover boy.”

“I don’t give a shit who you are. Nobody deserves that.”

“How sweet,” Artemis said dryly. “Was that how you got into his pants? No wonder he’s lost.”

It came to him out of nowhere. The hostility. The repeated attempts to rile him up. Percival stared, half in disbelief. “You’re worried about him. That’s why you’re here, trying to piss me off.”

Artemis made no answer. He yanked his hand back and stepped away, head bowed, shoulders slumped, for a moment looking so much like Newt when one of his creatures got sick.

Percival swallowed, struggling to navigate around the knots of emotions in him. “Return him to me,” he said, more softly this time. “Let me talk to him.”

“The frog prince,” Artemis muttered.

Percival frowned. “What?”

When the other man turned around, a smirk was once more fixed on his face. “Do you know how a frog turns into a prince?”

“I’m not kissing anyone but Newt.”

Artemis laughed so hard that he doubled over and had to sit down on the bed. “Merlin, the things you’re saying. If only he could hear this—if only you could hear _him_. The two of you are so sickeningly sweet I could puke.”

“No one told you to watch,” Percival said dryly.

Artemis’s only response was a smile. It looked soft under the pale moonlight, like something out of a dream, and Percival stared at it until it dimmed and faded out of sight. Until he realized that he was looking at Newt.

“Percy.”

Percival had met fear too often not to know what it sounded like. But not Newt. Never Newt. To hear him sound like that was torture and Percival hated himself even as he pulled Newt into his arms, finding his warmth and his shape and his familiarity.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Newt was babbling on his neck and Percival ached with every dripping word. His nails sank into Newt’s back, as if looking to mark him.

“For what?” he ground out.

“Should’ve told you from the–”

Percival kissed him silent, teeth clacking. The cigarette was an alien taste, but it was nothing compared to the wet sob muffled on his lips. Newt was trembling like a leaf and Percival held him, as best as he could that he barely noticed his own sobs. He still wouldn’t have if not for Pickett, struggling and protesting in the tight space between them.

There was something near miraculous in the way Newt took comfort into his hand and smeared it all over whatever surface he touched. It was a goddamn talent, Percival thought as Pickett calmed down, as _he_ himself calmed down, with every stroke on his hair and the soft kisses peppered all over his face. They were lying side by side and one of his arms was trapped under Newt’s weight and warmth.

“I’m sorry for this.” Newt was sad and gentle when he touched his cheek, the wet corner of his eye. “You shouldn’t have found out like that. Can I explain? About everything?”

“If you want,” Percival said, kissing the inside of Newt’s wrist. “But before that, let me say something first. I love you, Newt Scamander, and nothing changes that.”

It would take some time before Newt could believe him, but it was alright. Percival would stay until he did, and after. For now, he closed his eyes and held Newt close, listening as Newt told him about a friendless boy who didn’t know how to ask for help.

 

  



End file.
